


A Moment of Panic

by Hyperactive_Avian



Category: Bravely Default (Video Game) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Gen, Humour, does this count as a crackfic?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:33:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26839771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyperactive_Avian/pseuds/Hyperactive_Avian
Summary: There is exactly one way of getting Ciggma Khint to panic.
Relationships: Ciggma Khint & The Jackal
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	A Moment of Panic

**Just a dumb little story idea I came up with. Hope you enjoy!**

# A Moment of Panic

There was, the Jackal discovered, exactly one way to make Ciggma Khint panic. Unfortunately for him, making Chief panic wasn’t a pleasant thing to experience.   
The day had started off normally; Chief was flitting between jobs like a giant grumpy hummingbird, Jackal was planning a heist, Khamer was monologuing (and thus channeling his inner theatre student), and Profiteur was plotting. All in all, an average day for the Khamer & Profiteur Merchantry (apparently, the ampersand was “very important” - Profiteur’s words, not Khamer’s - for the Merchantry’s image, but Jackal was too lazy to ask why and Khint decided he wasn’t paid enough to bother enquiring).  
It all changed around midday, when Jackal suddenly felt a tickle at the back of his throat. He knew it wasn’t his chronic thirst (Chief had managed to explain that it was a psychological feeling and that he was, thanks to his thieving exploits, reasonably hydrated for a desert-dweller), which only raised the question of what on earth it was. Chugging a gallon of water - and throwing it up later, with an “I told you so” look from Chief - didn’t help, and eating was out of the question when it felt like he’d swallowed a razor blade. Asking Chief what was wrong was out of the question; he’d bugged the mercenary enough already and was certain another enquiry unrelated to his bodyguard job would see a sudden spike in his rates. Khamer was a _possible_ candidate to ask, but he had a bad habit of going off on a tangent. Profiteur, naturally, was a massive NO from him. As such, Jackal decided it was up to himself to discover why his throat felt raw and what the deal was with the sudden ache in his head. 

Things . . . did not go well for Jackal. First, he’d accidentally tripped over a tree root (despite there not being a tree for miles), then he’d stepped on a snake and nearly wound up bitten, and _now_ he was listening to Khamer’s monologuing. The only consolation was that the Chief was also there, but the mercenary was either tuning out the king or plotting various ways of discreetly killing his talkative employer without it being traced back to him. . . . that, or he was about to puke. It was hard to tell with Khint, really.   
‘. . . and so, after THE INCIDENT (the capitals were important), chinchillas and string cheese are now banned from Ancheim. Any questions?’ The king looked expectantly at the duo. He scowled and started whining when he realised they hadn’t been listening; Khint had pulled a book out at some point and Jackal was trying to count the number of gears in the palace he had to break to get some peace and quiet. ‘AHEM!’   
Upon getting no response, the king cleared his throat again. To Jackal, it sounded like he had a frog stuck in his gullet. Naturally the boy snickered, causing Khint to look up from his reading.   
‘Hm? Did you say something?’ Khint’s comment was clearly the wrong thing to say, as the moment he had said it the king started incoherently screaming (the only thing they could make out was ‘Erutus’ and something about paying them). 

After wisely deciding to leave the king to his screaming frenzy, the unlikely not-father-son duo headed back to the Harena Ruins. It was there that Jackal’s sense of balance decided to take a holiday, as he suddenly found himself sprawled on the floor spitting sand out of his mouth. He looked up when a shadow appeared over him. He wasn’t surprised to find it was Chief, but _was_ shocked to find a look of . . . worry? Yeah, it was! There was a look of WORRY on the Chief’s face!   
‘Oh my gods.’ Jackal said, his head spinning; his mouth felt like it was full of cotton, which was never a good sign.   
‘What? A-are you okay? You’re dizzy, aren’t you? Do you have a temperature?’ After a brief moment of contemplation, Chief decided that he did.   
Jackal stared at him for a moment before saying, ‘You DO have emotions!’   
The look of genuine confusion on Chief’s face would be a treasured memory of Jackal’s for a long time.   
‘What? Emotions? Yes, of course I have them!’ Shaking his head, Chief clearly decided that discussing his emotions (or lack of) wasn’t the best thing to do at the moment. ‘Right, come on then. Up you get.’ Carefully, Chief helped Jackal to stand. The thief - who would normally throw a hissy fit of gargantuan proportions at such treatment - was too tired to even pick his feet up. ‘Well this is a problem.’ Sighing, the Chief knew what he had to do. ‘Alright, you little gremlin, I’m going to pick you up okay? Just . . . don’t bite me, yeah? Otherwise I’m charging you for it.’   
‘Yeah, yeah.’ Said Jackal. At least, that’s what he TRIED to say. All Khint heard was ‘Meerrrrhhhhgggg’ (and something about squirrels) before the kid passed out.   
Stumbling under the sudden dead weight in his arms, Khint said the only thing that came to mind: ‘Shit.’

After managing to plonk Jackal onto the nearest bed, Khint took a deep breath to quell the panic that was tap dancing in his chest (and to mentally prepare himself for the cleaning he’d have to do; he’d just remembered it was HIS bed he’d dumped the kid on).   
‘Right,’ he said, his voice not at all wavering, ‘better make sure he’s not going to get any sicker.’   
Khint set off to find a bowl, Jackal’s water hoard, and a squirrel (the kid had mentioned them for a REASON, after all). Just after the mercenary had left, Jackal woke up with a groan. Well, it wasn’t a GROAN exactly; it sounded like paper being shoved through a shredder more than an actual groan but since no one was around to comment on it it shall remain a groan.  
‘What the hell happened?’ He wondered, not realising that to anyone who would be present he sounded less like a sick, constantly angry teenager and more like a hungover zombie.   
Naturally, it was then Khint entered the room. He had a bowl in one hand, five water bottles under his arm, and a squirrel perched on his head.   
‘Thank the gods you’re awake.’ Khint said, dumping the water on the nearest chair and handing Jackal the bucket. Now, Jackal understood the water and the bowl, but there was one thing that just didn’t add up.   
‘. . . qwiggeh?’  
‘You wanted one.’  
‘Muh?’  
‘Yes, you said something about squirrels before you decided to act like Holly when she doesn’t want to work. Therefore, I could only assume you wanted one.’   
‘Uh.’   
‘Well I don’t _know_ , Jack. Why _do_ you want a squirrel?’ Said squirrel had now moved from Khint’s head to sit on one of his shoulders. Jackal simply brought his hands up in an empty gesture. Khint rolled his eyes. _Teenagers_. ‘Anyway, give me a call if you need anything, okay?’   
Jackal nodded. Satisfied the kid wouldn’t try to get out bed, Khint left, squirrel in tow (it seemed the rodent had taken quite a liking to the Spell Fencer, and Khint was too busy internally panicking over his Very Sick Child to make it stay with Jackal). 

Khint checked in on him throughout the day. The squirrel, who had been dubbed “Peanut” by Jackal and thus proving he was terrible with names, was quite happily munching on an assortment of nuts and other snacks whilst perched on Khint’s head (the only concern Khint had was having to wash the fur and crumbs out of his hair later).   
‘Feeling any better?’ Khint asked, holding a sandworm grub up to Peanut and silently hoping the rodent didn’t get bug guts in his hair.   
‘Meh.’ Jackal replied, as articulate as ever.   
‘How’s your throat?’ There was a squelch, and something slimy ran down the back of Khint’s neck.   
‘Mur.’   
‘Do you need anything?’ A pair of paws started picking bits out of his hair.   
‘Mm.’   
‘Well, what do you need?’ A furry head stuck itself down the back of his shirt.   
‘Mrrrrrggghhhh.’   
‘Ah. Be right back, then.’ All that could be seen of Peanut was his bushy tail sticking out of Khint’s collar.   
It was, Jackal decided later, a very good thing Chief was fluent in Sick Kid; otherwise, he was fairly certain he would’ve gotten a giant turnip for dinner rather than the meat cuts he wanted. 

The moment Jackal coughed, Khint went into a meltdown. Well, as close to a meltdown as someone like him could get. He dropped whatever he was carrying (it looked like parchment, and since Jackal couldn’t read decided it wasn’t his business) and rushed over to him.   
‘Are you okay? Are you dizzy? Do you need water? Jack, tell me if you’re okay!’ He spoke surprisingly fast for once, and Jackal was honestly impressed.   
‘. . . cough.’ The boy said (he pronounced it “co-hUGK”).   
‘Right, right. Um. Water. You’ll need water. Uh, be right back.’ Plonking Peanut onto the bottom of the bed, Khint hurried out.   
Peanut stared at Jackal. Jackal stared at Peanut. He was, Jackal decided, rather cute (although he would never admit it aloud; he had a reputation to keep, after all). Peanut had bulging cheeks, which was pretty funny. What wasn’t funny was him reaching into said cheeks and pulling out a hazelnut. The possibly-crazy squirrel offered it to Jackal who, thoroughly grossed out, refused. Peanut stuffed the hazelnut back into his cheeks.   
‘I’m back.’ Chief said as he pushed open the door. He handed Jackal a glass of water. ‘Again, feel free to ask if you need anything.’ 

Over a day or so, Jackal recovered from his bout of sickness. Once he was fully recovered, he was very surprised to find Khint acting like he hadn’t turned into a giant Mother Hen™ the moment he got sick.   
‘Hey, Chief!’ Jackal greeted, kicking open Khint’s door due to holding something behind his back.   
‘Ugh, what’s wrong now?’ Khint grumbled, rubbing his temples; clearly, Old Man Tick-Tock and Moneybags hadn’t been kind to him today.   
‘I got you something!’ He grinned, pulling out whatever he was hiding behind himself. It was a gift; crudely wrapped in obnoxiously bright orange paper, Khint was considering sunglasses to even LOOK at the damn thing.   
‘Really, now?’   
‘Yup! Open it!’ Jackal handed Khint his eyeball-melting present.   
‘O . . . kay?’ Doing as asked, Khint raised a brow. Peanut poked his head out of Khint’s pocket (he liked to nap in there). Holding the present up to his eye, he closely inspected it. ‘A . . . chicken mug?’   
Jackal rolled his eyes. ‘Read it!’   
‘“#1 Mother Hen!”. Huh.’   
‘Sooo? Do you like it?’   
‘. . . no.’ Khint said.   
‘Asshole!’   
Despite saying quite the contrary, Khint would later be seen repeatedly using said “hated” mug. 

_The End :)_


End file.
